Lock (30 page)

“Hardly noticed.” Lock attempted to chuckle at his joke, but the motion hurt.

The Knight felt Lock’s ribs and removed a bandage from his bag. “Miska was a very well-trained fighter. Warrant and I were surprised you beat him. Your skill is impressive.”

“Why were you looking for Miska?”

“It’s a sad and guilt-ridden story for our Order. Several years ago, he came to us and asked to join our ranks. Becoming a Knight is not a simple task. Candidates are chosen carefully and training is grueling. We all must perfect both fighting and healing arts. We cannot accept payment for either, but the skills we learn are priceless. We have some of the best healers and masters of the fighting arts in the world among our men. Trainees are instructed in the best ways we can offer. When Miska arrived, we questioned him, tested him, and he was allowed to join as a Trainee. He fulfilled his duties, took his shifts, and learned the healing arts, but it was fighting that most interested him. No one considered this particularly unusual. Each Knight has his own special interests and skills. Some are completely dedicated to healing and learn only basic fighting while others do the opposite. Others lean more toward scholarly tasks or engineering.”

“Sounds like a hard life but a good one.”

“It is. Becoming a Knight was the best decision I ever made. Most of us feel that way, and few leave the Order. None have ever left on Miska’s terms. He learned all he could from some of our best instructors in the fighting arts. While stationed for his training, we discovered he’d attacked a family and brutalized their daughter. He stole their money and a horse and left. We’ve been chasing him ever since. A criminal with skills learned in our Order is too dangerous to roam free. It sickens me to think of the crimes he’s committed since he left us.”

I know about some
, Lock thought. Perhaps if they’d caught Miska sooner, Sparrow’s sister would still be alive. “I knew I was right to kill him.”

Sir Erik’s eyes met Lock’s, and Lock was almost taken aback by the Knight’s expression. The man’s large gray eyes were wise, strong, and kind. They held no innocence yet none of the wickedness Lock knew tainted his own soul.

“Killing is not always the answer to everything, but in this case I agree. The Order has never before made such a mistake in choosing a Trainee, and we hope it never happens again. We found no indication of his violent past, and he never spoke of it.”

“Is that something you’d expect a would-be Knight to tell you?” Lock scoffed, slowly pulling his shirt on. With the bandage in place, his ribs felt a little better.

“Yes.”

“Then you’d be hard up for Trainees. I imagine you are, anyway. Only decent, perfect men could join you.”

Erik laughed. “I’m afraid you have an unrealistic view of us. We don’t look for perfection, just for men who strive to do their best for themselves and their fellows. Miska’s past wouldn’t have necessarily condemned him with us, but his lack of honesty did. Each man has faults, but he must admit them. It’s not always easy. Admitting I’m wrong has always been a problem for me.”

“Few of us like to admit when we’re wrong.” Lock thought about the expression on Sparrow’s face when he’d thrust Miska at her feet. He’d been so certain she wanted revenge. He’d nearly gotten himself killed to give her what she wanted, but he’d obviously been far from the truth.

Sparrow stepped inside carrying a bucket of water and several pieces of cloth. Her gaze met Lock’s. “Are you all right?”

“Fine.”

Sparrow knelt beside Erik and handed him a cloth that he dipped in water. He unraveled the braid and bathed the back of Lock’s neck where Miska had ripped out a chunk of hair. The Knight stitched the flesh before he began sewing Lock’s torn forearms. Lock watched carefully, asking questions about healing techniques and mentally comparing them with what he’d learned from Shea-Ann.

“You have an interest in healing?” Sir Erik asked.

“I do.”

Sparrow met Lock’s eyes. “I’d rather have you pursue that than some of the other things you’ve done lately.”

A smile played around Sir Erik’s lips. “Smart woman. Well, that’s about all I can do for you.”

“Thank you for your help.” Lock extended his hand to Erik who grasped it firmly.

“If you ever decide to pursue that interest in healing, you might want to visit our Order. A man with your fighting skill would have a good chance at becoming a trainee.”

Lock laughed. “I thought you didn’t want any other indecent choices?”

“I don’t think you would be a wrong choice.”

“How can you make that judgment?”

“Just a feeling.”

“Were you one of the people who helped choose Miska?” Lock smirked.

“No,” Erik’s probing eyes held Lock’s, “I wasn’t. Good luck to you both.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Sparrow replied before the Knight left.

Dipping a fresh cloth in the water, she began cleaning the blood and dirt from Lock’s face, one of her hands touching his chin. He longed for her to touch him with affection instead of simply out of necessity.

“I wish you hadn’t done this,” she said.

“I’m glad I did.”

Sparrow’s jaw stiffened.

“Why are you constantly angry with me? I gave you what I thought you wanted.”

“Well you were wrong.”

“Obviously.” He caught her hand before she could continue cleaning his face. “I want to get out of here and go home.”

“Don’t you think you should rest for a while? I know you’re hurt.”

He strode out of the chamber without replying, fury twisting his stomach. It was madness to be angry with her, but he couldn’t help it. He had this crazy fantasy that she’d have been grateful for what he’d done. He’d imagined her throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him. For what? Killing a man, even if the man had murdered her sister?

Outside, Sea Storm awaited them. They had ridden the horse to the ring that morning, and Namir had graciously volunteered to care for him during the games.

The slender slave smiled, his eyes gleaming, when he saw Lock.

I bet he’d have been appreciative
, Lock thought.
Too bad he ain’t Sparrow
.

“You won!” Namir said. “I knew you would.”

“Yeah,” Lock muttered, his voice tinged with sarcasm. His ribs smarted, arms and scalp stung, and the rest of him felt like one big ache. “I won.”

“Thank you, Namir.” Sparrow took Sea-Storm’s reins and mounted.

“I’ll look forward to your next visit to the city,” Namir said to the couple, though his gaze remained fixed on Lock.

Lock mounted behind Sparrow and they turned towards home.

By the time they reached the farm several hours later, Lock’s ribs hurt so much he could scarcely wait to dismount and fall into bed. When Sea-Storm moved any faster than a walk, every strike of his hooves on dirt jarred Lock to the bone. His head hurt from the repeated slamming against the wall as well as the missing chunk of his scalp. And worst of all, during the entire ride, Sparrow had said no more than five words.

They stopped in front of the house, and Sparrow dismounted first, Lock moving slowly, careful not to show any sign of discomfort.

“I’ll see to the horse.” Sparrow glanced at him. “You look awful.”

“I feel great.” He flung her a mocking smile and stepped into the house while she walked Sea-Storm to the barn.

“By the Goddess, what happened?” Shea-Ann’s brow furrowed as Lock entered the house. She left the table where she’d been preparing herbs and approached him. “Where’s Sparrow? Were you attacked?”

“Sparrow’s fine. We weren’t attacked, and it’s a long story.”

“I want to hear everything. Come sit down. What’s wrong with your side?”

“Broken ribs.”

“You rode all the way from the city with broken ribs? Are you crazy?”

Lock lowered himself to the bed, resting his head against the pillow and closing his eyes. “Don’t you start shouting at me, too. Sparrow’s done enough of that to last me the next ten years.”

“Did you win your freedom?”

“If I tell you will you spare me the reprimand?”

Shea-Ann approached with salve for his cuts. “I can’t make any promises, but you better start talking, yak.”

Lock wasn’t sure why, but he was actually grateful to tell someone his side of the story—even if that someone was Shea-Ann.

By the time he finished speaking, Shea-Ann had applied the salve as well as checked his ribs. She stood beside the bed, her hands folded beneath her breasts, and said, “Just like a man.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You thought by killing Miska—and I’m glad you did, the brutal bastard—it would please Sparrow. You thought she wanted revenge more than she wanted you.”

“It seemed that way. If I’d been in her place—”

“You’d like to see Sparrow risk her life?”

“That’s different.”

“No, it’s not.” Shea-Ann placed a hand on his knee. “Lock, a woman prefers a live lover over a dead enemy.”

“I wish…”

“What?”

He shook his head, closing his eyes. “Doesn’t matter.”

No matter what he thought or what he wanted, Sparrow was still furious. At that moment, he was too tired to care.

* * * * *

After Sparrow settled Sea-Storm in the barn, she hauled a bucket of water from the well and headed for the house. Shea-Ann met her halfway.

“Good. I was going to get some water,” the old nanny said. “Are you all right? Lock told me everything.”

“I don’t know what I feel,” Sparrow murmured. “I thought he was going to ask for his freedom. I thought he wanted to marry me, that he loved me.”

Shea-Ann placed her hands on her hips. “You don’t honestly expect me to believe that you don’t think he loves you?”

“I don’t understand him.”

“He wanted to kill that bastard because he loves you. Yes, he made a stupid decision. Yes, he was trying to flaunt his masculinity, but underneath it all, he did it for you.”

“I know. Shea-Ann, when he fought, if anything had happened to him, I don’t know what I’d have done.”

“You should have made him stay in the city at least another day. The ride home with those broken ribs wasn’t a good idea. He could have pierced a lung.”

“Broken ribs?” Sparrow’s eyes widened. “He didn’t say anything about broken ribs.”

“Broken ribs, half his scalp torn out, all those gashes.” Shea-Ann shook her head. “Such stupidity, and all for a woman who doesn’t care in the first place.”

“Of course I care! If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t be so angry!”

“Life is so strange,” Shea-Ann observed. “When he first came here, I remember you trying to offer him comfort he refused. Now he looks to me like a man in need of a gentle touch and you’re in no mind to give it. Oh well. I always said a pirate doesn’t deserve kindness.”

Shea-Ann walked toward the barn. Sparrow glanced over her shoulder at her friend. She knew what Shea-Ann was trying to do, and it worked. She was right. Though Lock hadn’t expressed his love for her in the manner she’d expected, he loved her nonetheless.

In the house, Sparrow filled a wooden bowl with water. She took a soft cloth and moistened it then sat on the edge of the bed. Lock’s eyes were closed, his breathing even. She noticed some of his color had returned. When he’d dismounted earlier, his face had been pale as wax.
Mine probably would have been, too, if I’d ridden that far with broken ribs
.

His shirt draped over a nearby chair, and she noted the bandages that swathed his middle. The broken skin on the corner of his mouth still oozed blood and had swelled slightly. Sparrow took the damp cloth and touched it to the swelling.

His eyes flickered open and stared into hers. “The horse all right?”

“He’s fine,” Sparrow said.

“Are you all right?”

She nodded, her free hand stroking his cheek. Beardless, his blue eyes calm from sleep, he looked uncharacteristically vulnerable. “Why didn’t you tell me your ribs are broken? You shouldn’t have ridden.”

“I wanted to get out of that city. I never want to see it again.”

“I love you.” She touched her lips to his forehead. She kissed his eyelids then his mouth, gently, avoiding the cut.

He tugged her onto the bed beside him, one arm wrapped around her waist. She closed her eyes and rested her cheek against his bare chest, her fingers lightly tracing his bandaged ribs.

“Thank you for what you did today,” she said. “But I’m no killer. Not even for Miska.”

“I’m glad. My Sparrow isn’t a killer, even for revenge.” His voice was soft. “I thought it would make you happy. I was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

“You thought you were giving me what I wanted most, but I only want you, Lock.”

“Still?”

“Always.” She kissed his cheek and took his hand, entwining her fingers with his as they drifted to sleep.

* * * * *

When Sparrow awoke, it was late afternoon. There was work to do, and she was sleeping in the middle of the day! She rubbed her eyes and slipped from Lock’s arms, careful not to wake him, and splashed water on her face before stepping outside. Shea-Ann stood in front of the house, scattering seed to chickens.